


A sudden simple twist of fate

by heydoeydoey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, Texting, mostly because I haven't watched 3b yet, so much texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heydoeydoey/pseuds/heydoeydoey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles still has Derek's number saved in his phone, and he tells himself he's going to delete it, but he doesn't.  Instead, he sends Derek a text.  Okay, four texts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A sudden simple twist of fate

**Author's Note:**

> I never set out to write this ridiculous fic, it just sort of happened. Oops, I guess? 
> 
> Title borrowed from The Killers' "Deadlines and Commitments."

 

Derek leaving shouldn’t hurt Stiles nearly as much as it does.

Because it does.  Like a hole right in the middle of his chest, as if someone punched through and left it open and gaping and exposed and then expected him to walk around like nothing is wrong.

Scott doesn’t seem all that fazed that Derek is gone, and Isaac is clearly pretty happy to switch his allegiance to Scott.  And it’s not like Stiles can judge or anything; he doesn’t know the werewolf politics involved.  But it’s weird without Derek, and Stiles feels a whole lot less safe.  And okay, yeah, mostly Derek was flying just as blind as the rest of them, but at least he _looked_ terrifying.  Scott looks like a puppy.  Puppies intimidate no one.  Derek could lurk in a corner and look menacing no problem.  If Scott starts lurking in corners he’ll just look like he’s in time out. It’s not that he doubts Scott’s abilities as an alpha, not really.  Scott will figure the alpha stuff out.  It’s just that he got used to Derek being around, and Stiles deals with change about as well as ostriches do.  Head in the sand, and all that.

He still has Derek’s number saved in his phone, and he tells himself he’s going to delete it, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he sends Derek a text.  Okay, four texts.  He’s curious, and he’s not exactly good at reigning in his curiosity. (His dad would call that the understatement of the decade, probably.)

 **To Derek (4:14 PM):** _Hey.  Is this still your number?_

 **To Derek (4:14 PM):** _Probably not.  This is crazy.  Sorry, whoever has this number now._

 **To Derek (4:15 PM):** _But seriously, if this IS still your number, you’re an asshole for leaving._

 **To Derek (4:17 PM):** _Okay, that was too harsh.  It’s your life, whatever.  But you could’ve said goodbye, or something._

He doesn’t hear anything for three days, but he wakes up on a random Wednesday to find Derek’s name on the screen of his phone.

 **From Derek (3:45 AM):** _Yeah._

Stiles sort of gapes at the word, like maybe if he stares at it long enough more texts will appear.  But it’s Derek (supposedly) so he probably shouldn’t expect anything more.

 **To Derek (6:36 AM):** _Yeah, what? Yeah this is Derek?  Yeah I’m crazy?  Yeah you’re an asshole? Yeah you could’ve said goodbye?_

Stiles doesn’t expect a quick response, so he’s startled when his phone buzzes in his hand not a minute later.

 **From Derek (6:36 AM):** _All of the above_.

Stiles snorts.  It’s definitely Derek.  He can practically feel the genetic Hale sass in those words.

 **To Derek (6:38 AM):** _I thought you would’ve dumped your phone.  Gotten a burner and gone totally AWOL._

 **From Derek (6:40 AM):** _I’m not running from the law, Stiles_.  God, Stiles can actually picture him rolling his eyes. 

 _That’s what you think_ , Stiles types back quickly.  _I’m currently looking at a warrant for your arrest.  That habitual jaywalking was going to catch up with you sometime._

“Stiles!” His dad yells up the stairs. “School!”

Stiles has successfully been getting himself out of bed and to school on time for like six years now, but his dad has gotten very intense about some things, like driving Stiles to school, since the whole darach thing.  Which, admittedly, was only a few weeks ago so Stiles figures he’s allowed to still be kind of weird. 

Plus there’s the accepting the supernatural exists thing.  They haven’t really talked about it much, so Stiles is pretty sure his dad’s been seeking out other informants, like Mr. Argent and maybe Scott’s mom.

It’s not until he’s sitting in the passenger seat of the cruiser that he looks at his phone again.  He has one new message. 

 **From Derek (6:48 AM):** _:[_

Stiles can barely contain his glee.  Derek Allergic-to-Fun Hale actually used an emoticon.  An _emoticon_!  Stiles wants to tell everyone he knows, but at the same time he wants to guard this secret forever and look at that little unamused face every time he needs cheering up.  Somewhere, under all that leather and perfect hair and gruff bluster there is an actual person with the full range of emotions, sense of humor included.

“What are you grinning about?” His dad asks, and oh yeah, Stiles isn’t actually alone in his Jeep right now.  He sort of forgot in the wake of the world’s most unexpected colon/bracket combo.

“Nothing.” Stiles says, almost instantly wishing he’d come up with something better. Now his dad is looking at him like he’s worried Stiles forgot to take his Adderall this morning.  “It’s just a text from...Lydia.”

“Lydia,” his dad repeats, sounding dubious. 

“She’s funny.  When she’s not scary.”  This is true, even if the last time Lydia texted him was like three weeks ago.  Maybe longer.  She’s sort of living in happy werewolf-girlfriend-land right now.  Or something.  Stiles doesn’t dwell on it. 

 _Where are you?_ Stiles asks Derek during English class.  (Which is currently being taught by a rotation of subs, Coach Finstock today.  Apparently nobody wants to teach in a school with teachers dying right, left and center.)

 **To Derek (12:52 PM):** _Is Cora with you_?

 **To Derek (12:53 PM):** _Is it like a family road trip?_

 **To Derek (12:55 PM):** _Are you hitting all the major landmarks?_

 **To Derek (12:55 PM):** _Have her take a picture of you scowling in front of all of them!_

“Stilinski!” Coach barks. “Put that phone away or I’ll confiscate it and have Greenberg sell it on eBay!”

Okay, so texting in class, not his brightest idea.  He can feel Scott watching him, curious.  Which, really, Stiles shouldn’t be surprised about.  Scott is kind of naïve and Allison-centric sometimes, but he’s not an idiot.  As far as Scott’s concerned, nearly every person Stiles could be texting is at school.

They’re not even in the hallway before Scott starts peppering him with questions.  Who is he texting?  Why is it is so important?  Is everything okay? 

“Cora.” Stiles blurts.  Scott gets this half-smug, half-pretending-not-to-be-thrilled look on his face and dammit why can’t Stiles have a brain that can keep up with his mouth so that shit like this doesn’t happen to him?

“Not like that,” he protests, but it’s too late.  Scott isn’t even trying to keep the grin off his face now.

“So are you two a thing?”

“A thing?” Stiles repeats. “No, we’re not a _thing_.”

“Do you like her?”

“Like who?” Fuck.  When did Allison join them?!

“Stiles got caught texting Cora during class.”

“Cora?” Allison says, not looking remotely surprised. “How cute.”

“No.  Not cute.  Definitely _not_ cute.”

“Dude, Derek will probably kill you.  Or maim you, at least.” Isaac says, materializing on Stiles’ left, seemingly from nowhere.

“There’s nothing going on with me and Cora!” Stiles explodes, louder than he meant to, and now everyone in the hallway is looking at him. 

“That was unnecessary,” Lydia says, eyeing him critically from where she’s leaning against her locker. 

Stiles resists the urge to storm off, mostly because he has to see them all in chemistry two minutes from now anyway. 

 **To Derek (1:14 PM):** _The idiots in your pack think I’m dating your sister.  Can you do some long-distance wolfy voodoo and shut them up?_

_***_

Derek doesn’t see Stiles’ newest barrage of texts until he and Cora pick a generic Holiday Inn to stop at for the night.  They’ve done nothing but drive aimlessly for a few weeks.  They both know where they’re really going, but neither is ready to call the bluff yet.  Tonight they’re in West Virginia, almost on the North Carolina border.

Derek had sat on the first messages from Stiles, not really sure what to do with them.  Stiles is, for the most part, a pain in Derek’s ass.  But he’s a pain in Derek’s ass who’s gone out of his way to save Derek’s life more than once, and that counts for something.  That’s not why he’d replied, though.  Beacon Hills, despite all the horrible memories he has there, is still home.

And Stiles?  Stiles _is_ Beacon Hills.  Derek can’t explain it, exactly, it’s more of an instinct than any sense he can describe, but Stiles and Beacon Hills are forever associated now. 

“I thought we were leaving all that behind.” Cora had said, flatly, when she caught him replying to Stiles last night.  Cora doesn’t have the same connection to Beacon Hills that he does.  He doesn’t blame her; he’d cut himself free from the town if he knew how.  But in almost ten years he still hasn’t managed it.  It tugs him back like the tide every time he drifts too far. 

Stiles texts like he talks, a bit rambling and very fast, messages filling Derek’s screen faster than he can reply to them.  Not that all of Stiles’ incessant questions warrant answers.  Most of them are better left ignored. 

Derek reads all the messages from that day while Cora takes a shower in the slightly mildewed bathroom. 

 _Wolf voodoo is not a thing_ , he replies. _And leave my sister out of this_.

He doesn’t have to wait long for Stiles’ reply.  It’s seven-thirty in Beacon Hills.  Stiles is probably hunched over his computer writing a paper, or sprawled out on his bed reading a textbook. 

 **From Stiles (7:32 PM):** _Hey, they’re the ones who brought your sister into this.  I’m just an innocent bystander._

Derek snorts.  Stiles has never been an innocent anything in his entire life. 

 **From Stiles (7:33 PM):** _I hope you’re in the market for a brother-in-law, because Scott is, like, planning the wedding._

Derek doesn’t dignify that with a response.  Stiles is just trying to get a rise out of him now.

 **From Stiles (7:40 PM):** _Where are you?_  

Derek types, _West Virginia_ and sends it before he can second-guess himself.  It’s not as if Stiles is going to get on a plane and track him down.

(Actually, that’s exactly the sort of thing Stiles would do, given enough time, boredom and money to pay the fare, but Derek is betting on the Sheriff not letting his son out of his sight for the next fifteen years or so, now that werewolves have officially entered the picture.)

 **From Stiles (7:42 PM):** _Why??????_

 **To Stiles (7:42 PM):** _Why not?_

His phone buzzes pretty much for the next five minutes straight with Stiles’ flurry of reasons why not, and by now Derek should know better than to give him an opening like that.

“Didn’t I tell you not to do this?” Cora scowls, emerging from the bathroom in pajamas.

“It’s harmless.”

“It’s not.” Cora frowns. “It’s _Stiles_.  It’s dangerous.”

He wants to demand an explanation, because even for Cora that’s a little cryptic, but she switches off the light and crawls into the other bed, her back to him. 

Derek silences his phone and eventually shoves it under his pillow when the texts keep lighting up the room and Cora sighs audibly. 

He wakes up the next morning to twenty-five texts, the last an apology for flooding him with messages.  They’re an entertaining read, at least.

“I’ll drive today,” Cora announces.

“You don’t have a license.”

Cora glares, determined to wait him out, and if there’s anything Derek remembers about his baby sister, it’s that she can out-stubborn anyone, so he hands over the keys.

“And if you spend the whole day texting Stiles instead of talking to me, I’m going to throw your phone out the window.” She adds, falsely sweet, before shouldering her bag and leaving Derek to check out.

***

Stiles has a problem.  Well, Stiles has a lot of problems.  He’s got 99 problems and 78 of them are text messages from Derek Hale.  Also he’s drunk.  It’s Allison’s fault.  Because it’s her birthday.  And there was gin.  Stiles does okay with beer but liquor is not his friend.

“I’m drunk.” He announces to the room.

No one answers.  Stiles shouldn’t be surprised.  Scott’s over by the kitchen with Allison, looking sad (but Scott always looks sad with Allison now, so that’s not really news) and Lydia is full on making out with whichever twin she’s dating—Stiles can barely tell them apart when he’s sober.  When he’s drunk it’s a totally lost cause.  Isaac and Danny and the other twin are somewhere, Stiles knows he saw them somewhere.  Maybe in the kitchen.  Or outside.  It’s not like there are tons of options. 

 **To Derek (11:12 PM):** _drunk. allison’s bday_.

 **To Derek (11:14 PM):** _fuck. am i the last human in BH? only human here.  cept allison, but she doesn’t count.  she’s a superhero._

 **From Derek (11:15 PM):** _No._  

 **From Derek (11:15 PM):** _Don’t drive home._

Stiles feels weird about that.  Sort of...warm and fuzzy.  Which is _not_ how anyone should feel about Derek Hale _ever_.  Shit.

“How’s Cora?” Lydia asks, having detached herself from Wolf Twin #1. 

“I’m not texting Cora.”

“Everyone you know is at this party.”

“That’s not true.  My entire AP US history class is not here.  Neither are my cousins from Ohio.  Or my dad.  Or anybody’s parents, luckily.  Or...other werewolves.  Or the rest of the lacrosse—

“Oh my god,” Lydia hisses, “you’re texting Derek!”

“I’m not.” Stiles says, but even his drunk ears can tell it came out weak and pathetic, an obvious lie.  He doesn’t even want to know how she figured it out from that rambling mess.

“Oh really?” Lydia snatches his phone. “Then why did his name just pop up on your screen?”

Stiles yanks his phone back and shoves it into his pocket. “It didn’t.”

“Stiles,” Lydia frowns.

“Fine.  I’m texting Derek.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“What’s the worst he can do, send me pictures of him scowling?  I think I can handle it.”

“You know that’s not how I meant it.”

“I don’t care, Lydia.  He left and it sucks and so what if I’m texting him?  It’s not any of your goddamn business.”

She flinches, and Stiles feels guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back.  Because nobody’s said two words about Derek since he left, so who gives a fuck if Stiles decided to stay in touch?  He doesn’t need anybody policing his conversations. 

“Cut your losses now,” Lydia says as he starts to turn away. “He’s not coming back.”

Stiles sits in his Jeep (passenger side, Scott’s the DD tonight), feeling suddenly sober and angrier with Lydia than he probably has any right to be.  She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.  Derek isn’t coming back to Beacon Hills.  Why would he?  There’s nothing left for him here, and Stiles would think he was crazy for staying.

But it’s weird without him here, and it’s weird that everyone else is just pretending he doesn’t exist, just like how they don’t talk about Boyd or Erica.  And Stiles gets not talking about the dead...he and his dad talk around his mom all the time.  It’s just...how they cope. 

But Derek isn’t dead.  And he doesn’t deserve to be invisible.

 **To Derek (11:36 PM):** _Lydia knows we talk._

 **From Derek (11:37 PM):** _So does Cora._

 **To Derek (11:37 PM):** _Who’s Cora gonna tell?_

 **From Derek (11:37 PM):** _Good point.  I didn’t realize it was a secret._

Stiles has been operating under the assumption Derek wouldn’t want Stiles going around running his mouth about him.  When he says as much, it takes Derek ages to reply.

 **From Derek (11:48 PM):** _I don’t want you feel like you have to lie to them._

Stiles’ thumbs tap rapidly across the keyboard and he changes his reply six or seven times before coming up with _I don’t._

Awesome, Stilinski.  Really eloquent. 

Scott scares the shit out of him about two seconds later when he knocks on the Jeep’s half-open window.

“How long have you been sitting out here?”

Stiles shrugs. “Hour, maybe.”

“You could’ve told me you were ready to go.” Scott ambles around to the driver’s side and swings open the door.

“You were having fun.” Stiles says, although he’s not entirely sure that’s true.  It seems impossible to have fun at your ex-girlfriend’s birthday party while she flirts with another dude (Isaac) the whole night.

“Were you?” Scott asks. “You and Lydia looked a little...intense.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t overhear.”

Scott’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

“So...Derek?”

“Yeah.  It’s weird.”

Scott frowns. “You hate each other.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Since when?”

It’s a fair question, but Stiles can’t exactly pinpoint it.  It’s not as if he woke up one morning and decided to actively un-hate Derek Hale.  It was a gradual thing.

“I don’t know.  It just sort of happened.”

“What do you even talk about?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.” Scott repeats.

“You know what I mean.  Stupid stuff.  Whatever.  He bitches about Cora sometimes, I talk about whatever random thing pops into my head.  I don’t know why he’s still talking to me but he is.”

“Do you like him?  It’s cool with me if you do.  We haven’t really ever talked about it but if you’re interested in—”

“It’s not like that!” Stiles says, too fast and loud so it sounds like he’s lying. “I mean...thanks.  But no.  It’s not.  We’re just texting.  And he’s Derek freaking Hale.  There is no universe in which Derek Hale is interested in Stiles Stilinski.  It’s like a mathematical certainty.”

“So...you’re not interested in him or he’s not interested in you?”

“I don’t—I can’t—you’re taking advantage of my drunk talky self.”

“Because your sober self is so reticent.”

“Shut up with your SAT words and drive me home.”

***

 **From Stiles (6:47 PM):** _Are Hale Thanksgivings as cheerful as Stilinski ones?_

They exchanged their respective Happy Thanksgiving texts earlier (Stiles’ had included a turkey emoji), so Derek hadn’t really expected to hear from Stiles again today. 

Cora persuaded him to stay in an actual town for the holiday, not just a lonely hotel off the interstate, so they’re in the very picturesque Brandon, Vermont at a B&B, the proprietor of which invited them to her Thanksgiving dinner.  Cora accepted, and all but pushed him out the door and down the stairs at dinnertime.  It was a typical orphans’ Thanksgiving; he and Cora were the only ones at the table actually related to one another, there were two locals and the rest were B&B guests.

Cora’s still downstairs eating various kinds of pie, but Derek escaped to their room after one slice of apple.  It’s the first major holiday he and Cora have spent together since they were kids, and Derek knows he should be down there with her.  But he and Cora were never as close as he was with Laura, and it’s hard to build a relationship from scratch after so many years apart.  They’ve grown closer on this trip, at least, but Derek knows it’s only temporary.  Cora won’t forgive him for what he’s planning to do. 

 **To Stiles (6:50 PM):** _We ate dinner with strangers and pretended to be leaf peepers._

 **From Stiles (6:50 PM):** _WTF IS A LEAF PEEPER?_

 **From Stiles (6:50 PM): _(_** _It sounds dirty.)_

Derek snorts a laugh at that.

 **To Stiles (6:50 PM):** _People who travel in the fall to look at the leaves change.  It was Cora’s idea._

 **From Stiles (6:51 PM):** _That’s my new favorite thing about you.  Derek Hale, Leaf Peeper Extraordinaire._

 **To Stiles (6:51 PM):** _The key word in that sentence was PRETEND._

 **From Stiles (6:51 PM):** _If you insist, but this road trip of yours is making a lot more sense now._

 **From Stiles (6:51 PM):** _Either way, my day was worse than yours._

 **To Stiles (6:52 PM):** _Doubt that._

 **From Stiles (6:52 PM):** _Oh I’ll prove it._

 **From Stiles (6:53 PM):** _1\. My dad worked all day._

 **From Stiles (6:53 PM):** _2\. I tried to make turkey._

 **From Stiles (6:53 PM):** _3\. I burned the turkey._

 **From Stiles (6:53 PM):** _4\. We’re ordering pizza.  Pizza!  On Thanksgiving.  A travesty._

 **From Stiles (6:54 PM):** _5\. We haven’t talked about my mom at all, even though it was her favorite holiday._

 **To Stiles (6:55 PM):** _I sat next to a close-talker with severe halitosis._

 **From Stiles (6:56 PM):** _You’re right, you win._

Derek is laughing when Cora returns from the dining room downstairs. “Tell your boyfriend I said happy Thanksgiving.”

“Funny.”

“I’m not joking.”  Cora flops onto her bed.

“Stiles isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Maybe he should be.” Cora says, matter of fact.  “You look happy.  I literally can’t remember the last time you were happy.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Maybe, but god, Derek, why do you do this to yourself?  You deserve happiness as much as everyone else.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Big surprise. But I _do_ want to talk about it, and you’re stuck with me.” Cora frowns. “You have to stop punishing yourself for what Kate did.”

“I brought her into our pack.  I’m the reason they’re all dead.” Derek grinds his teeth together, refusing to say anything more.  It still catches him sometimes; some mornings when he wakes, he has a few blissful moments of forgetfulness before it all comes rushing back, like a vice grip around his heart.

“And I’m the one who had to _listen to them die_.” Cora snaps back.

“What?” Derek says. “No.  You were...” but he can’t remember where Cora was, because if she’d been anywhere _but_ home, she would’ve ended up with him and Laura.  “Were you in the house?”

“No.” Cora says, flatly. “I was in the tree house.  I’d been getting underfoot all day, and Mom was trying to get ready for that pack from Seattle to come through, so she sent me out into the woods.  I could hear them all, screaming.  By the time I got there, Kate was standing in the front yard, watching.  I thought she was crying at first.  But then when I got closer I realized she was laughing.  That’s when she saw me.  She had a gun, and I could smell the wolfsbane in the bullets.  She said she’d give me a ten-minute head start.  So I ran.”

Derek stomach turns, and he suddenly regrets asking.  The tree house was only a hundred yards into the woods.  Cora wouldn’t have just heard the screams, she would’ve smelled their flesh burning, and she would’ve heard the moment the screams stopped.  What Kate did to him was terrible, but what she did to Cora was so much worse.  Cora didn’t just lose her family that day; she lost her home and her entire childhood.

“Cor— he says, but his voice catches and he doesn’t really have adequate words to continue anyway.

“If _I_ can forgive you for what happened, then it’s about time you forgave yourself.”

***

Stiles is considering the relative merits of kale versus spinach when someone rams their shopping cart into his ankles. 

“Motherfu—Peter.”

Peter Hale smiles in a way Stiles can only describe as wolfish (big surprise). “Sorry, Stiles.  Didn’t see you there.”

 _Bullshit_ , Stiles wants to say.  “No problem.  I’m just picking out some leafy greens.  You really should buy some.  Did you know if you put them in fruit smoothies, you can’t even taste it?  Who knew, right?”

Stiles could swear up, down, left, right and center that Peter doesn’t intimidate him.

But he’d be lying, and Peter knows it.  Peter is evil wrapped in charm, like a snake-oil salesman, which is part of what makes him so dangerous.  You can _see_ the danger on Derek, with his permanent scowl and his creepy dilapidated house, but Peter looks clean cut and nonthreatening in his v-neck sweaters and his blue eyes, and Stiles can’t bring himself to trust him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Peter says lightly.  His eyes are cold, though, and Stiles gets one of those niggling, uneasy feelings he hasn’t had to deal with over the past few weeks. 

Peter pushes his cart past Stiles, and Stiles picks the spinach (kale will be a hard sell with his dad, he needs to lay some groundwork before he brings it home) but he can’t shake the feeling that Peter knows exactly what Stiles has been doing since Derek left.

 **To Derek (2:35 PM):** _Your uncle is a creep._

 **From Derek (2:40 PM):** _What happened now?_

 **To Derek (2:41 PM):** _We had a weird encounter in the produce aisle this morning.  I have an inkling that he’s up to something._

 **From Derek (2:41 PM):** _Inkling? Okay, Nancy Drew..._

Stiles doesn’t throw his phone across the room in frustration, but he wants to.

 **To Derek (2:42 PM):** _Remember creepy kanima-controlling Matt?  I had an inkling then and nobody believed me._

 **From Derek (2:45 PM):** _What did Scott say?_

 **To Derek (2:45 PM):** _I haven’t told him._

 **From Derek (2:46 PM):** _Why tell me?  I’m a thousand miles away, there’s nothing I can do to help._

 **To Derek (2:46 PM):** _Only a thousand?_

 **To Derek (2:46 PM):** _Getting closer._

 **To Derek (2:47 PM):** _Are you coming back?_

 **From Derek (2:47 PM):** _No._

Stiles isn’t sure if he buys it.  Two weeks ago Derek and Cora were in Vermont.  Now they’re...somewhere in Colorado?  Or Montana maybe.  That’s the most distance they’ve covered in the shortest amount of time since they left.  Assuming Derek has been telling the truth about where they are, which isn’t a given. 

 **From Derek (2:48 PM):** _I thought we were talking about Peter._

 **To Derek (2:49 PM):** _I don’t know._

 **To Derek (2:49 PM):** _It’s not like I have proof._

 **To Derek (2:49 PM):** _Just a heebie-jeebie feeling._

 **From Derek (2:51 PM):** _Tell Scott.  He can help you more than I can._

Stiles does throw his phone then.  Not hard, and it lands on his bed, but come on.  He doesn’t want to say _I told you so_ again.  He wants someone to actually listen to his concerns the first time.  It’s not like there are tons of situations where he’s been so wildly off the mark that he has no credibility left.  He’s got good intuition for evil.

Derek is right though about one thing, though; Scott should know about close encounters of the Peter Hale kind.  It’s probably his job as the alpha to keep tabs on the other werewolves in the area. 

Fuck.  How is this his life?

***

Like most things in Derek’s life, he doesn’t mean for it to happen.  They just got out of the car to stretch their legs and get some air, but he and Cora are deep in some other pack’s territory before they even realize; just a shift of the wind and they catch the scent.  Which means that the other pack has probably been tracking them for a mile at least.

“Fuck,” Cora hisses.

“I know.”

There is etiquette to follow, rules they’ve broken—unintentionally, but with some packs intent doesn’t matter. 

“Tell Stiles where we are.” Cora says, her mouth setting in a grim line.

Derek nods, fishing his phone out his pocket.  His hands shake as types the words.

 **To Stiles (9:34 PM):** _2 hours.  If you don’t hear from me after that, we’re in Rocky Mountain National Park, near RT 36, 50 miles northwest of Boulder._

And then he turns his phone off, even though he knows that’s going to freak Stiles out more than anything.  Stiles will start texting him and then calling and Derek can’t afford to be distracted right now. 

They hear the pack before they see them, and Cora slides her hand into Derek’s, squeezing tight. 

It’s a huge pack.  Fifteen of them at least, the kind of pack the Hales used to be, before the fire.

He and Cora don’t stand a chance against them. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says quietly.

Cora scowls. “Don’t do that.  You aren’t allowed to give up yet.  I’ll do the talking.”

Derek tucks his free hand into his pocket and curls it around his silent phone.  Even turned off, it’s his touchstone, his lifeline to safety and Stiles and home. 

The pack surrounds them, and Cora steps forward slightly, angling her body towards the alpha, a short man probably only a year or two older than Derek. 

“Who are you?” He demands, his voice deeper than Derek expects.

Cora lifts her chin, already giving off an air of stubbornness. “Cora Hale.  This is my brother Derek.”

“Hales.  Interesting.  I thought that bloodline died out.”

“Not quite.” Cora says, her lips twisting into a disturbing and misleading smile. 

“Well, you’re a long way from home, Cora and Derek Hale.  And...” he pauses, sniffing the air, “far away from your pack too, it seems.”

“Yes.” Cora says shortly. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the situation in Beacon Hills.”

“Bits and pieces.  Enough to know to stay out of it.”

“Wise choice.” Cora tightens her grip on Derek’s hand.

“Who is your alpha now, back in Beacon Hills?”

“Scott McCall.”

“McCall,” the alpha frowns.

“He’s bitten,” Cora says, another dangerous smile on her face. “But a true alpha.”

There’s a hissed intake of breath from a few of the betas in the pack.  She’s not lying, they can hear it.

“Do you really believe such a thing exists?” The alpha rolls his eyes.

“Not until I saw it.”

“And this true alpha, he allows you to roam free in territories that are not his?”

“He sent us to search for two of our betas.  We’ve been traveling for a few months, but we haven’t found them.  We were upwind and didn’t realize we were in your territory.” 

Derek thinks she should’ve started with an apology.  But there’s a reason she insisted on doing the talking; Derek can barely trust his own instincts at the best of times, let alone under pressure like this.  Plus he can’t lie like this.  He wonders where she learned how.

“I like you,” the alpha grins, but Derek doesn’t feel particularly reassured.  Cora is still wound as tight as a bowstring next to him; she doesn’t trust this guy either.  “However...I can’t condone trespassing.  Word would get around that I don’t protect my territory; that any wolf can just waltz through without following the proper etiquette.  And we can’t have that, so I’m afraid that’s bad news for one of you.”

“Me,” they say simultaneously, and Cora turns to glare at Derek. 

“How touching.  Why don’t I give you a moment to discuss it?  We won’t listen in.” He smiles again.

“You have to go home,” Cora scowls.

“No.  You’re going home.”

“He needs you.”

“And you think I don’t need _you_?  You’re the only real family I have left.”

Before they can argue further, there’s the sound of crashing in the underbrush and calling out.  Flashlights swing back and forth in wide arcs, and sirens scream in the distance.  They’re police officers, or park rangers maybe, looking for a missing child. 

“Joey!  Joey!  Call out if you can hear us!”

By some silent agreement, the pack scatters, and Cora yanks Derek’s arm, taking off towards where they parked the Toyota.

***

Stiles is studying Stats and pretending not to worry about Peter Hale when his phone buzzes on the mattress next to him.  Derek has been all but radio silent in the eighteen hours since they talked about Peter, and Stiles doesn’t totally understand the text the first time he reads it.

 **From Derek (8:34 PM):** _2 hours.  If you don’t hear from me after that, we’re in Rocky Mountain National Park, near RT 36, 50 miles northwest of Boulder._

 **To Derek (8:34 PM):** _What kind of trouble are you in?_

 **To Derek (8:34 PM):** _You’re an idiot._

 **To Derek (8:35 PM):** _I AM THE ONLY PERSON WHO KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE._

 **To Derek (8:35 PM):** _WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO I’M 1000 MILES AWAY_

 **To Derek (8:35 PM):** _(Yes, I do see the irony here.  I won’t text you about things you can’t help with anymore.)_

 **To Derek (8:37 PM):** _According to Google maps, it would take me 18 hours to drive there.  2 hours isn’t enough!_

Stiles gives up texting after a few more tries, and then he starts calling, but it’s useless.  Either Derek, the idiot, turned his phone off, or it’s already too damaged to receive calls, because it’s just clicking over to voicemail every time. 

He’s out of practice.  It’s been too quiet in Beacon Hills the last few months, and he hasn’t had to come up with a rescue plan on the spot since the Great Darach Debacle of September.

He doesn’t have a lot of information to go on, but he knows Derek.  Derek, bless his heart, is not the man to have around in a spur of the moment crisis.  Cora might be able to keep it together long enough for the two of them, but Stiles doesn’t like big giant question marks in his rescue plans.  Derek is also stubborn as fuck and would only text for help if the situation was desperate.

Which means that Stiles definitely doesn’t have two hours.  He has one, max.

 They’re in a national park, which is good.  Stiles can mobilize an entire army of law enforcement to search a national park, if he tries hard enough. 

A bomb threat is probably a bad idea, but an amber alert could work.  It takes him thirty-three minutes to set up an anonymous Skype account, get a quick lesson from a very suspicious Danny over the phone in IP blockers and proxy servers, find the number for the Larimer County sheriff and parks department and call in his bogus amber alert. 

Then, he texts Derek again. 

 **To Derek (9:35 PM):** _I jumped the gun by about an hour and a half.  Sorry, not sorry._

Only now he has to wait, and the waiting sucks.  His dad and Scott are both working tonight, and Stiles is still on shaky ground with Lydia and he doesn’t really consider Isaac or Allison the kind of friends to call while he’s on the verge of a panic attack. 

Oh god.  This is horrible.  What if he was too late?  What if they’re dead, and Derek never comes back?  His stomach turns, and he would probably be sick except he hasn’t eaten anything recently enough. 

The next twelve minutes are excruciating, and then his phone starts ringing.  Not just a text alert, actually ringing and he sort of just stares at Derek’s name on the screen.  What if it’s a ransom call?

He taps the answer button and barks into the phone, “Derek!”

“Stiles.”

Stiles knees actually give out and he lands on the floor _hard_ , but he doesn’t even care because Derek sounds alive and not like he’s bleeding out. 

“You’re okay?  Right?  You got out of whatever was happening?  I didn’t know what to do, a fake amber alert seemed like the fastest thing, but I feel pretty guilty about wasting all those officers’ time so I hope it worked.”

“That was you?” Derek sounds incredulous for moment, and then he laughs.  Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever heard Derek laugh before. “Of course that was you.  I should’ve realized.  I thought we just got very very lucky.”

“Luck?” Stiles snorts. “Luck is never on your side.”

“Don’t I know it,” Derek agrees.  He sounds tired...not that Stiles is really surprised. He can imagine him, slumped back against the seat in the Toyota, his face slack with the exhaustion that comes after an adrenaline high. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.  Cora stalled them long enough.”

“Good.” Stiles says.  There’s a lump in his throat now, and he doesn’t want to think about the relief he feels.  He wants to ask what happened, but at the same time he doesn’t want to know.  Knowing the details makes it real, turns it into something that actually happened to him, not something that happened tangent to him.

“Thank you,” Derek says, and his tone is sincere in a way that hurts, but Stiles couldn’t explain why if he tried. 

“This is weird,” Stiles blurts. “Talking on the phone, I mean.  Not you thanking me.  Although that’s weird too.  But I got used to the texting thing, so talking is just...”

“Weird.” Derek finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

“I can hang up if you want.”

“No.  I need you to stay on the phone a little longer.”

“Okay.  Cora says hi.”

“Hi Cora.”

He can hear mumbling, but he doesn’t have super werewolf ears so he can’t hear exactly what’s being said, but he’s pretty sure Derek says _shut up_. 

“Sounds like you two are bonding,” Stiles says drily, and he can hear Cora start laughing. 

“You could say that.” Derek says, sounding more like his snarky, sourwolf self. 

Really, Stiles isn’t sure what the Hale family dynamic is like.  Not that he’s one to judge or anything.  He gets what it’s like, to have your entire family shrink and be just one other person. (He doesn’t think Peter counts.)  It always feels like someone is missing, or in the Hales’ case multiple someones, and no matter what you do there’s always a void: an empty chair at Thanksgiving dinner, too much space in the driveway, not enough laundry or dishes...all the little things that mean there was a person there before.  He figures if Derek and Cora going on this trip together makes that space seem a little smaller, he can’t really hold it against them. 

“Okay, I feel better now.” Stiles says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.  You can hang up whenever you’re ready.”

Stiles wants to joke, wants to pitch his voice high and say _no you hang up first_ , but instead he says, “Okay.  Bye.”

“Bye,” Derek says softly, and Stiles disconnects the call before he says something he regrets like _I miss you_ or _please come home_. 

***

After he hangs up with Stiles, they drive south towards Colorado Springs.  Cora doesn’t say anything, but her silence is grudging, Derek can tell.  She _wants_ to say something.

“Fine,” he sighs, agreeing to the conversation he’s been putting off since...well, since Stiles started texting him two months ago.  (Has it really only been two months?)

“Why him?  He’s not pack.”

“He is.  Or was, I guess.”

“Derek.”

“It’s not like I planned it.  I didn’t want him around.  But he’s stubborn, especially when he thinks he’s right, and since he wouldn’t go away it seemed easier to keep him.  Safer, too.   Would you want him working against you?”

“No.  But that doesn’t explain this.” She gestures towards Derek’s phone, still clutched in his hand.  Stiles has texted him four times since they hung up; Derek replied every time.

Derek doesn’t want to admit it, but he owes his sister an explanation, at the very least. “He’s my anchor now.”

Cora is surprised, he can see it on her face and hear it in her heartbeat.

“It’s not...romantic.  I can trust Stiles to be honest with me even when it’s not pleasant, even when it would be easier for him to lie.  That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Does he know?”

“I’ve never told him.”

“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t worked it out himself.”

“Can you imagine him knowing and somehow _not_ asking ten thousand questions?” 

“Yes.” Cora glances over at him, her expression solemn. “We’re going back, aren’t we?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Not yet.”

Cora sighs, “You would seriously rather drive aimlessly for months than go back to Beacon Hills and tell Stiles...whatever you need to tell Stiles?”

“It’s not just about Stiles.” Derek snaps, and Cora’s expression softens.

“I know.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“No.”

“Do you think he’s in love with you?”

“No.”

“You’re both idiots then.” Cora says cheerfully, suddenly sounding so much like Laura it hurts. 

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.  Let’s decide what Napoleon-Complex’s pack is involved in that even the _hint_ of law enforcement sent them scattering.”

“Drugs.” Derek says. “Cocaine.  Couldn’t you smell it?”

“I’m not very well acquainted with the smells of various drugs.  Good to know _you_ are.”

“College,” Derek shrugs. 

“ _You_ went to college?”

“I think I should be offended that you’re so surprised.”

“I just can’t imagine it.  You weren’t exactly academically inclined, from what I remember.  School was Laura and Jake’s thing.”

“It was something to do.” Derek shrugs.

“What was your major?”

“Didn’t have one.  Laura and I moved back home halfway through my sophomore year.”

“I bet you were going to major in something _really_ useful.  Like poetry.”

“Very funny.” Derek rolls his eyes. “I was thinking computer science, actually.”

“Seriously?  Computers?”

“They’re a lot less complicated than people.”

“Fair point.”

Cora pulls into the parking lot of a slightly sketchy-looking motel. “I’m tired,” she says. “This will work.”

“Okay.” Derek agrees.  It’s not like he hasn’t dealt with worse before.

An hour or so later, after Cora is asleep, Derek’s phone buzzes underneath his pillow. 

 **From Stiles (11:46 PM):** _I’m really really glad you’re okay._

 **To Stiles (11:48 PM):** _I know.  Thank you._

***

Deaton has basically been on red alert since they did their dead/not dead spell, waiting for the surge of supernatural and mythological creatures he insisted would come.  Honestly, Stiles is pretty sure his own imagination can come up with worse that whatever’s going to be making its way towards Beacon Hills.  Still, he and Lydia team up to work the rest of the way through the Argent bestiary, with Lydia translating and Stiles doing his best to research defenses against the likes of chimeras, doppelgangers, demons, and yes, vampires.

As if there weren’t enough vampires out there without adding real ones to the mix. 

Honestly, Stiles is more concerned about the doppelgangers and the demons.  They can hide in plain sight.  Almost everything else in the book would have a much harder time blending in.  Like, he’s pretty sure there’s never going to be a Minotaur roaming the halls of Beacon Hills High unnoticed.

(Stiles actually really wants to see a Minotaur in real life.  He just doesn’t want to have to be the one to kill it, because that shit looks hard.)

 Of all the things the bestiary could throw at them, Stiles is somewhat disappointed when the first thing is fairies.  He knows better than to get on their bad side, because they can totally take him, but Deaton helps them negotiate a truce which basically amounts to _you do your thing and we’ll do ours and we won’t try to kill each other_ and admittedly it makes everyone’s lives easier, but it’s also a little bit anticlimactic.

 **To Derek (7:43 PM):** _Fairies are lame._

 **From Derek (8:04 PM):** _Yes.  Be grateful it wasn’t pixies._

 **To Derek (8:05 PM):** _Lydia and I haven’t gotten to pixies yet.  But if they’re anything like the ones in Harry Potter, I’ll take fairies any day._

 **From Derek (8:06 PM):** _They are so much worse than the ones in Harry Potter._

 **To Derek (8:06 PM):** _I bet you’re a secret HP nerd._

 **To Derek (8:06 PM):** _It literally makes my day._

 **To Derek (8:07 PM):** _Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me._

 **To Derek (8:08 PM):** _Except I’ll probably tell Scott.  It will be an accident, though._

 **From Derek (8:09 PM):** _There is no secret._

 **To Derek (8:09 PM):** _Just admit it.  It’s healthy to express these things._

 **From Derek (8:09 PM):** _Do your homework, Stiles._

 **To Derek (8:10 PM):** _You’re no fun._

 **From Derek (8:10 PM):** _So I’ve been told._

Granted, he’s missing Derek’s tone, but there’s something so resigned about that text, like Derek has just sort of given up on fun.  Stiles feels guilty for rubbing it in, since it’s not like Derek has really had cause to have much fun over the last few years. He and Cora need to stop at some amusement parks on their road trip or something. 

 **To Derek (8:12 PM):** _You should hit up Disneyland on this trip.  They call it the happiest place on earth for a reason._

 **From Derek (8:12 PM):** _Can you imagine Cora at Disneyland? She’d probably punch Mickey._

 **To Derek (8:12 PM):** _I’d pay good money to see that._

Stiles’ phone starts ringing in his hand, and for a second he thinks it’s going to be Derek, but it’s Lydia’s name on his screen.

“We have a problem.” She says before Stiles can even say hello.

“A human problem or a supernatural problem?”

“What is a human problem again?” Lydia says, a little wistfully, which is weird because wistful is not her thing.

“Okay, supernatural.  Hit me.”

“I may have summoned a demon.”

“How do you _accidentally_ summon a demon?!”

“I was reading up on the theory and I may have gotten a little too involved.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t know if I _actually_ did.”

“You’re Lydia Martin.  When have you ever not done something perfectly on your first try?  Wait, don’t answer that.” Stiles sighs. “So...what kind of demon are we dealing with here?  Garden variety, easily exorcised, or more like came from the seventh circle of hell and is here to watch the world burn?”

Lydia hesitates.  Stiles knows from experience when Lydia hesitates it is _not_ a good sign. “Maybe somewhere in between?  I’m really not sure what I did, Stiles.”

“Was this a wandering around naked in the woods for three days blackout?”

“It wasn’t that extreme,” Lydia snaps, before saying more softly, “but yes, I think I lost some time.”

“How much?”

“An hour.  Two, at most.”

“That’s probably long enough to summon a demon.  I’m no expert, though.” Stiles flops back onto his bed. “We should probably go see Deaton.”

“Tonight?”

“No, I was thinking we should pencil it in sometime in the next month or so.  What’s the rush, right?”

“Fine.  I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“That’s stupid, your house is on my way to the clinic.”

“I’m not riding in that deathtrap you call a car.”

Stiles knows to pick his battles with Lydia, and he figures this one isn’t a fight worth having.  He’s got bigger fish to fry right now anyway.

 **To Derek (8:23 PM):** _Gotta go.  Lydia may have just gotten us in major trouble._

 **To Derek (8:24 PM):** _I’ll keep you posted._

***

Stiles doesn’t keep him posted.  Instead, Stiles goes completely silent for three days.  The first day, Derek is ashamed to admit he doesn’t even notice.  It’s his driving day, and by the time they reach Albuquerque, he falls asleep almost as soon as they find a hotel. 

When he wakes up on day two, he checks his phone purely out of habit and is surprised but not concerned when he sees no messages from Stiles.

 **To Stiles (8:32 AM):** _Everything okay_?

He doesn’t hear anything.  They spend the day walking around Albuquerque, and he starts to get more and more worried when his phone doesn’t vibrate in his pocket.  It’s strange, how quickly he got used to having Stiles at his fingertips.

“You’re getting twitchy.” Cora says. “Is this what Stiles withdrawal looks like?”

“I’m not addicted.  I’m concerned.”

“Relax.  It’s been, what, a few hours?”

“Two days.”

Cora’s eyebrows rise. “That’s like a year in Stiles-time.”

“I know.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Cora says, but it sounds a bit feeble. “Maybe he broke his phone.”

That isn’t outside the realm of possibility with Stiles, but Derek can’t help thinking if that were the case, Stiles would’ve found a way to tell him. 

“Something’s wrong,” Derek says. “He wouldn’t just disappear.”

“Try calling.”

Derek does, and it rings six times before Stiles' voicemail picks up.  Derek doesn’t leave a message.

“I’m calling Scott,” he decides.

Scott answers on the third ring.

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek demands.

“He’s okay.”

“I haven’t heard from him in two days.”

“Yeah, uh.  There was a thing.  With a demon.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?  Where is he?”

“He’s right here, but he’s asleep.”

“Wake him up.” Derek snarls, and Cora rolls her eyes.

“No, Derek.  I’ll tell him you called when he wakes up.”

And then Scott _hangs up on him_.  Cora pulls the phone out of his hands before he can throw it or squeeze it until it shatters.

“Calm down,” Cora says harshly, shoving him off the busy sidewalk and down a quieter side street.  “Just stay there and breathe for a second, Bruce Banner.”

Cora leaves him leaning against the side of a Starbucks and walks out of earshot, her own phone pressed to her ear.  When she comes back, five minutes later, he’s feeling somewhat calmer, except Cora’s mouth is set in a straight line.  She’s worried.

“He’s in the hospital.  He’s not injured, just exhausted and dehydrated.  He probably didn’t sleep the whole seventy-two hours they were demon-hunting and -exorcising.”

“Typical.”

“I know.” Cora hands him his phone back. “So...are we going back to Beacon Hills?”

“I don’t know.”

“Pro/con list?” Cora suggests. “I’ll start.  Pro, you two can finally have this run-on sentence of a conversation face-to-face.  Con, you’ll have to admit that you’re in love with him.”

“Cora.”

“What?  I’m just calling it how I see it.  People don’t wolf out in the middle of the street over a platonic friend.”

“You’re oversimplifying things.”

“Oversimplifying?  In what universe does being in love with Stiles Stilinski seem _simple_?” Cora frowns. “You’re a werewolf and he’s a force of nature.”

Derek isn’t in love with Stiles.  He _refuses_ to be in love with Stiles.  Love has done nothing but make Derek weak, vulnerable, an easy target.  Love burned him, destroyed nearly everything he cared about, and ran him out of his own town.

Twice.

Derek fears the carnage that would come from a third attempt.

“I’ll meet you back at the hotel later,” Derek says, and he ignores the way Cora’s face falls. “I need some space.”

“Coward,” Cora says to his back.

He doesn’t bother with a reply.  It’s not like she’s wrong.

***

Why do hospitals have to be so dry?  Stiles’ lips feel cracked and chapped and his tongue may as well be the Sahara.  There’s a pink plastic pitcher of water and a matching cup on the tray table in front of him, but the nurses have him wrapped up like a burrito and his arms are tethered to various machines and IV drips and he has all the strength of a runty kitten right about now, so he just sort of stares at the pitcher and hopes it will pour itself.  This would be a _great_ time to find out he has telekinetic powers.  This year hasn’t been weird enough yet.

The world has a sort of blurred-around-the-edges feeling Stiles thinks is probably the exhaustion.

“You’re awake.”

Stiles turns his head to see his dad sitting in the chair next to the bed.  Scott is in the next chair over, but he’s asleep, leaning on the Sheriff’s shoulder and drooling gently.  It’s adorable.

“Hey,” Stiles says, his voice all scratchy, and his dad, total rockstar that he is, pours Stiles some water and rolls the tray closer so Stiles can drink out of the straw and not have to try to lift his arms or anything equally strenuous.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Like I just spent three days hunting down and exorcising a demon.”

“Sounds about right.” His dad sighs heavily. “Next time you’re going off demon fighting, at least leave a note, okay?”

“Sorry.” Stiles says, and he means it. “I didn’t plan on going totally off the grid.” He chases the straw around the edge of the cup with his mouth and his dad snorts, reaching out to hold the straw in place.

“I know.” His dad clears his throat, “I guess I wasn’t the only one worried about you.” His eyes land on Stiles’ phone where it’s sitting next to the water pitcher.

Shit.

“How many times did he call?”

“Just once.  But that thing hasn’t stopped beeping since yesterday.”

“He’s, uh, probably freaking out.”

“You want to fill me in on what’s going on here?”

His dad phrases it like a question, but Stiles knows it isn’t really one.  They made a deal, no more secrets, and this isn’t a secret exactly, not in the way werewolves were a secret, but it’s still something he’s been avoiding mentioning.

“I don’t know?  I mean, we’re just texting mostly.  Other than this one time there was a thing with another pack in Colorado and I pulled off a pretty excellent long-distance rescue and he called to say thanks but really it’s nothing.”

“Nothing,” the sheriff repeats, skeptical.

“Okay, it’s not nothing.  But it’s not the kind of something you think it is.  We’re not dating.  We’re just...friends.  I guess.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.  Mostly.  It’s complicated.  Can we have this conversation later?  Scott is going to be traumatized if he wakes up in the middle of our heart-to-heart about my sexuality.”

His dad splutters and turns a couple different shades of red, and Stiles knows they’re done talking about Derek for a while.  He learned a long time ago that misdirection is the best way to evade his dad’s questions. 

“I’m going to get some coffee.” His dad says, easing out of the chair slowly.  Scott makes a very lupine snuffling noise but he doesn’t wake up, just slouches farther down in the chair. 

Once his dad is out of the room and heading down the hall, Stiles fights out of his blankets and grabs his phone. 

He didn’t realize he has Derek’s number memorized until he starts dialing it by heart.

It rings twice and then Derek’s voice is in his ear. “Stiles.”

“Hey.”

Probably he should’ve come up with something better before calling Derek.

“Three fucking days, and all you can say is _hey_?”

Scratch that.  _Definitely_ should’ve come up with something better than hey. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. “Turns out that whole exorcism thing is not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

Derek lets out a shuddering breath that could be a laugh, but it’s hard to tell. “You just disappeared.”

“I know.  I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  I mean, hospital, but no injuries.  I apparently went all Victorian and fainted in Lydia’s living room.”

Derek totally does laugh at that, and Stiles figures he’s probably not all that angry if he thinks Stiles’ stupid joke is funny.

“Do I even want to know how a demon ended up in Beacon Hills in the first place?”

“Lydia summoned it.  Accidentally.”

“Of course she did.”

“It’s gone now.  Mostly thanks to Deaton, but I helped.”

“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be in the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles insists. “They overreacted.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all it was.”

“Where are you?”

“Albuquerque.”

“I’ve never been there.  That’s not saying much, though; I haven’t been anywhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“I mean, my mom took me to Disneyland once.  But I’ve never left California.”

Stiles doesn’t mean to sound so pitiful about it.  He’s not filled with wanderlust, desperate to escape Beacon Hills with a passport and a backpack.  Maybe someday he will be, but it’s hard to imagine leaving the place where his dad is and his mom was.

“You’re not missing much in Albuquerque.”

“Good to know.”

Stiles wonders what would happen if he asked Derek to come home.  He won’t do it, obviously, and he doubts he actually has any pull whatsoever when it comes to Derek, but if he did, and he asked, would Derek come back?

Probably not.  And Stiles wouldn’t blame him, given his long and miserable history with Beacon Hills. 

“You should get some sleep,” Derek says.

“I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“That’s not funny, Stiles.”

“You’re right.  Sorry.  I’ve just done nothing _but_ sleep for like twelve hours now.”

“I wonder why.”

“I’m going to go on record saying this is the shittiest way to spend Christmas.”

“It’s Christmas?”

“Seriously, dude?”

“I haven’t exactly celebrated Christmas in about five years.”

“Yeah, well, neither have we, really, but I still remember the date.  Which is tomorrow, by the way.  Get your sister a present or something.  And find a good Chinese restaurant, if such a thing exists in Albuquerque.  It’s the only thing that will be open, except maybe a gas station convenience store.  Also, don’t bother with the TV.  It’s all sappy Hallmark bullshit.”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts. “I have made it through Christmas without your guidance before.”

“Yeah, but the Stilinski Christmas Survival Guide is a tried and true method.  Dad and I have been using it for years.”

“Is your dad working tomorrow?” Derek asks, and Stiles knows that Derek gets it, understands that holidays aren’t really holidays anymore. 

“Yeah.”

“What about you?”

“Assuming I’m not still being held against my will in this stupid hospital bed, I’ll just hang out.  Watch movies.  Order takeout.  Scott usually comes over in the afternoon when his mom goes to work.  It’s not a bad way to spend a day.  The weather report is even calling for some snow.  Only an inch, tops, but that will still be cool.  I can’t remember the last time we got snow.”

“Stiles?” Scott rubs sleep out of one eye and squints at him with the other. “That Derek?”

“Yeah,” he says to Scott. “Scott’s awake,” he tells Derek.

“I’ll let you go then,” Derek says kind of in a rush, and Stiles wonders how much he yelled at Scott when he couldn’t get Stiles on the phone. “Stay alive.”

“I will.  Remember, get Cora a Christmas present.  She seems to be a Marvel fan, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Stiles hangs up, and Scott just sort of stares at him for a second, before saying, “I expected to wake up and find him sitting on the other side of your dad.”

Stiles flaps a hand dismissively.  “No way.  Besides, he’s in Albuquerque.  Even you can’t sleep that long.”

“You didn’t hear him on the phone this morning.  He was so pissed when I said I wouldn’t wake you up.”

“I did sort of go completely AWOL on him after promising I’d keep him in the loop.  That was not cool of me.  He’s okay now.”

“I’m glad _you’re_ okay,” Scott says.

“Of course I’m okay.  Who panicked and called 911?  Was it Isaac?  I bet it was Isaac.”

“It was Isaac.” Scott nods. “He made me call your dad, though.”

“Wimp.”

“You should text Lydia.  She was here all day yesterday, but she and her mom left this morning to visit her grandma in Sacramento.  She’ll want to know you’re awake.”

“Okay.  Then let’s try and spring me out of here.”

“They’ll probably kick us out if we race wheelchairs through the halls again.”

This, Stiles decides, is why Scott will always be his best friend.

***

If this were a movie, Derek would get in the car as soon as he hung up with Stiles and start driving so he could be in Beacon Hills by Christmas morning. 

This is not a movie, so Christmas morning finds him sitting in a cheap hotel with Cora exchanging gifts they bought last night at Target.  They’re still in the red and white plastic bags. 

Cora gives him toothpaste (“What, you’re running out.”) and a picture frame with a photo of the two of them that she’d snapped on her phone during their Thanksgiving in Vermont.  Derek gives her an Iron Man t-shirt and travel Scrabble, which makes her face light up competitively and they spend a few hours playing.

More accurately, Cora kicks his ass with words like jukebox, vagabond and quixotic.

“I’m sorry,” Cora says, and Derek knows she’s not apologizing for beating him by two hundred points.

“You don't have to apologize.”

“I was pushy.”

“That’s nothing new.” Derek teases, but Cora just frowns. “Cor, really, it’s okay.”

“We have to go back.” Cora says.

“Cora—

“No, hear me out.  It’s killing you, being away.  You’re not ready to put Beacon Hills behind you yet.  I don’t know if you ever will be.” Cora frowns a little, and Derek knows she’s been happy to have Beacon Hills in their rearview mirror.  She doesn't want to go back.

“I can’t drag you back there.”

“You’re not dragging me.  I think they need us.  Whatever magic they’ve gotten themselves into is powerful stuff, and Scott’s going to need a stronger pack if they’re going to get through it safely.”

“You want to join Scott’s pack?”

“ _Want_ is a strong word.  I think we should consider it though.  It’s a big risk to be omegas when we don’t know what we’re going to be up against.”

“Let’s think about it for a few days.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “My mind is made up.  But if you want to do a pro/con list, I guess that’s your business.”

It’s not until later, when Cora goes down to the lobby to pay for their Chinese delivery, that Derek checks his phone. 

 **From Stiles (10:11 AM):** _Because it’s Christmas..._

 **From Stiles (10:12 AM):** _And at Christmas you tell the truth_

 **From Stiles (10:13 AM):** _I kind of miss you.  And I think you should come home._

*******

Stiles should know better.  He didn’t follow his own advice, and he turned on the TV.  Texting under the influence of _Love Actually_ is always a bad idea.  (Not that Stiles makes a habit of it, or anything.  But obviously it's the sort of movie that gives you unrealistic expectations about Christmas.  Derek is not going to turn up on Stiles’ doorstep tonight speaking terrible Portuguese.  Metaphorically, anyway.  Stiles wouldn’t know good Portuguese from terrible Portuguese.)

“You know,” Scott says, interrupting Stiles’ nervous breakdown. “Phones have this great feature.  They can beep to alert you when you get a text.  That way you don’t have to check them every thirty seconds.  It really frees up your attention to do other things.  Hanging out with your best friend, for example.”

Stiles flops back against the couch cushion. “I told Derek I miss him and I want him to come home.  And I quoted Love Actually.  Why didn’t I do ten tequila shots first or get my wisdom teeth out so I could blame it on controlled substances?”

“It’s not the end of the world.  Also, I think ten tequila shots would make you too incoherent to text anything.”

“Stop being the voice of reason.” Stiles grumbles.

“It will be fine.  He’ll come home or he won’t.  Either way, you’re not any worse off than you are now.”

“Except he knows that I _want_ him to come home.”

“Do you really think Derek Hale is going to want to have a conversation about feelings?”

It’s a pretty good point, actually.  One Stiles probably would’ve thought of himself, if he weren’t too busy melting down.

“I guess not.”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Scott says cheerfully. “Let’s watch Die Hard.  That’s not the kind of Christmas movie that will make you want to text Derek cheesy things.”

“Yippee-ki yay, motherfucker.” Stiles says, although it comes out a bit more somber and miserable than he intends.

Scott just grins and goes to find the DVD on the shelf. 

***

 **From Scott (1:27 PM):** _Has he made up his mind yet?_

 **To Scott (1:28 PM):** _Yes.  He just won’t admit he has._

 **From Scott (1:29 PM):** _Stiles asked him to come back._

 **To Scott (1:29 PM):** _About freaking time._

 **To Scott (1:30 PM):** _I thought he was going to do it after we had that run-in with the pack in Colorado._

 **From Scott (1:32 PM):** _What?  He never told me about that._

 **To Scott (1:34 PM):** _It’s a long story._

 **To Scott (1:36 PM):** _But he got us out of a jam._

 **From Scott (1:37 PM):** _He’s good at that._

 **To Scott (1:39 PM):** _Derek’s back.  I’ll let you know when we leave Albuquerque._

***

Derek spends the first two hours considering turning around every five miles or so. 

“This is stupid.”

“The only thing that’s stupid is that it’s taken you _months_ to decide to do it.”

Derek knew from the beginning he’d end up back in Beacon Hills, eventually.  He always does.  He just didn’t expect that Cora would want to come with him.

“You’re a little too...upbeat about this.” Derek says.

“I’m not upbeat.  I’m cautiously optimistic.”

“That’s not a thing.  I think you have too much invested in this.”

“I think you have not enough invested in this.”

“Cora.”

“Listen, pretend you actually care about my opinion for a second.” Derek flinches, but Cora either doesn’t notice or pretends not to. “Bizarrely, even though he drives you crazy most of the time and no one would’ve seen it coming, Stiles makes you happy.  Whatever you choose to do about that is okay, as long as you don’t freeze him out when we get back because you’re scared or whatever.”

“I’m not scared,” he says, but it’s a kneejerk reaction, not the truth, and Cora knows it.

“You’re allowed to be.” Cora shrugs. “Just don’t let it control you.”

“I do care about your opinion.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I care about your opinion,” Derek repeats, more vehemently this time.

“Okay, okay.  No need to get snappy about it.”

“You’re the only family I’ve got left.  Of course I care.”

“God, Derek, I know.  I just meant that you don’t really listen to me when I start talking about Stiles.”

“My life doesn’t revolve around Stiles.  We’re going back because they need our help.  All of them.  Not just Stiles.”

“I know.  It was my idea.”

“Good.”

They drive in silence for a few more hours, and then Cora insists she’s bored and wants to switch.  In the passenger seat, Derek can’t help glancing down at his phone. It’s resting in the cupholder, and he’s certain there are messages from Stiles waiting from him. 

He should probably tell Stiles they’re on their way back to Beacon Hills.  It will give Stiles some time to decide how he wants to handle things.  Derek isn’t sure how this thing can possibly work in Beacon Hills.  It’s one thing to text back and forth fifteen times a day (or more) but it’s completely another to spend time together in the same place at the same time.  Derek could always ignore Stiles via text, and vice versa.  Stiles is impossible to ignore in person.  Everything about him demands attention.

They pull off I-40 right after crossing into California, both needing to stretch their legs and eat something.  Derek barely tastes his food, too preoccupied with Beacon Hills looming ahead of them, only eight hours away.  He considers taking one of Stiles’ suggestions and making a detour to Disneyland, but he knows Cora will never go for it.  She’s ready to go back.  It was only a few months ago she was one hundred percent anti-Stiles.  Normally, Derek might enjoy rubbing her nose in that a bit.  But they’ve talked about Stiles enough over the course of the last few days.  

 **From Stiles (2:30 PM):** _What’s with the radio silence?_

 **To Stiles (4:32 PM):** _Sorry.  Driving day._

 **From Stiles (4:34 PM):** _Where to? Gonna cross the border into Mexico, maybe live it up in Cabo for a while?_

 **To Stiles (4:40 PM):** _Hardly.  We should be rolling into Beacon Hills around 2AM._

 **From Stiles (4:41 PM):** _Haha, very funny.  Where are you really going?  I hear Texas has some pretty cool spots._

 **From Stiles (4:50 PM):** _Seriously, where are you going?_

 **From Stiles (4:55 PM):** _Derek._

 **From Stiles (4:56 PM):** _This joke is not funny._

 **To Stiles (4:57 PM):** _Good, because I’m not joking._

“Stiles doesn’t believe we’re coming back.” Derek says, and Cora looks over at him, her eyebrows rising.  It’s not often he surprises her. 

“You told him?”

“We can’t show up unannounced.  He’ll think we’re demons or doppelgangers.”

“Good point.” Cora drums her thumbs lightly on the steering wheel. “Tell him to ask Scott, if he really doesn’t believe you.”

“What?”

Cora shrugs. “You don’t have a monopoly on Beacon Hills texting buddies.”

 **To Stiles (4:58 PM):** _Cora says ask Scott if you don’t believe me._

***

That conniving, sneaky, conspiring werewolf.  Stiles dials Scott’s number from memory, and begins to pace his room as the phone rings.

“Hey man,” Scott answers on the third ring.

“Curse your sudden and probably totally evitable betrayal.”

“I don’t think evitable is a word.”

“Maybe you didn’t get far enough in your SAT flashcard deck yet.”

“Whoa, what’s wrong with you?”

“Is Derek going to be arriving in Beacon Hills sometime in the early hours of tomorrow morning, by any chance?”

“Oh.” Scott says. “I didn’t think he’d tell you first.”

“ _You’re_ supposed to tell me first!  That’s the best friend’s job!”

“I thought you wanted Derek to come back.”

“I did.  I do.  Sort of.  Don’t distract me.  Why didn’t you tell me he was coming back?”

“I only found out this morning.”

“This morning, as in several hours before now, which gave you plenty of time to tell me.” Stiles starts to pace his room, a combination of frustration and building anxiety making him jittery.

“I was at work, and then I went to lunch with Allison, and I sort of forgot.”

“Allison?  Lunch?”

“I don't know.” Scott says, and Stiles can practically _hear_ him shrugging.  Stiles figures if the lunch with Allison is too complicated to explain in one sentence (like “we’re getting back together” or “we’re trying to be friends” or “we’re planning a murder”) he doesn’t really want to know the gory details.

Scott doesn’t want to talk about the gory details either, because he switches the subject back to Derek almost immediately. “I’m sorry I forgot.”

“This is my worst nightmare.” Stiles flops backwards onto his bed.

“No it’s not.” Scott laughs. “It’s a good thing.  Now you can stop moping around all the time.”

“I call pot/kettle on that one.”

“Fair enough.” Scott says, sounding unbothered. “But don’t pretend like you’re not happy, underneath all the panic.”

“Of course I’m happy.  But the logistics are going to be awful.  Are we friends?  Are we going to, like, hang out now?  Should I ask Allison for some dating-a-werewolf pointers?  My dad is simultaneously going to want to know everything and nothing.  What does Derek _want_?”

“How the hell should I know?  You’re the one who talks to him all the time.”

“You talk to Cora all the time, apparently. What has she told you?”

“Nothing.  We barely kept in touch.”

“Barely? What’s barely?”

“Well, we weren’t texting every day.” Scott says, a little snappishly. “Just cool it on the third degree, Stiles.  It’s gonna be fine.  You _asked_ him to come home.”

“I know.  But I didn’t think it would actually happen.”

“Neither did I.  But it did and it’s hardly the worst thing that’s happened this year.”

“Right.” Stiles nods. “Perspective.”

Talking to Scott helps, once Stiles gets over his (admittedly somewhat irrational) panic.  Derek is coming back, which is a good thing.

It’s also a terrifying thing. 

But Stiles’ entire life is a terrifying thing these days, so really, what’s one more werewolf?

***

Beacon Hills looks so ordinary in the middle of the night, just like any of the other small towns they’ve driven through in the early morning hours on this trip.  Cora is asleep in the passenger seat, thank god, because otherwise she’d probably make him drive straight to Stiles’ house and pledge his undying love or something, and if Derek had a life like a romance novel maybe he would.

Derek’s life isn’t a romance novel, though.  It’s a horror movie. 

He pulls into his assigned parking space at the loft.  He has to root around in the console to find the keys, and Cora wakes up while he searches. 

“I wonder if Peter’s still living here.”

Derek hadn’t even considered that, although if he has he owes Derek three months’ rent.  They each grab their duffel bags from the backseat, and Cora leads the way up the stairs.  The door squeaks loudly on its hinges when they open it, and the air smells stale.  The layer of dust over everything is enough to confirm Peter hasn’t been here. 

Cora sneezes, then sniffs the air a few times. “Just us,” she confirms.

Derek nods his agreement. “You take the bed.  I’m not tired.”

“If we’re sticking around, we should probably find a two-bedroom.  Swapping the couch back and forth is going to get old.”

“Probably.” Derek agrees.

Cora crawls straight into bed and falls asleep again within minutes.  Derek is too awake to sleep but too tired to do something productive like tidy up.  He takes his phone out of his pocket, hesitates, and puts it down on the coffee table.  After a few seconds, he picks it back up again. 

 **To Stiles (1:53 AM):** _You awake?_

He doesn’t expect anything, and yet he’s not remotely surprised when his phone buzzes a few minutes later.

 **From Stiles (1:55 AM):** _Yes.  You home?_

 **To Stiles (1:55 AM):** _Just now._

 **From Stiles (1:58 AM):** _Come over?_

 **To Stiles (1:58 AM):** _You sure?_

 **From Stiles (1:59 AM):** _No, but do it anyway.  I’m not really gonna believe you’re home until you lurk creepily in my bedroom._

Derek isn’t sure if he should laugh or be offended by that, but he rises from the couch anyway and manages to slip out of the loft without waking Cora. 

It takes him seven minutes to get from his house to half a block away from Stiles’ house, where he leaves the car parked on the street.  He’s not stupid enough to park his car in Stiles’ driveway for the Sheriff to find as soon as he comes home from work or looks out his bedroom window. 

 **To Stiles (2:10 AM):** _I’m here._

The front door swings open almost instantly.  Stiles is in pajamas and his hair, which is longer than Derek remembers, is mashed down on one side and standing up on the other.  He obviously was asleep. 

“Hey,” Derek says.

“Three fucking months, and all you can say is hey?” Stiles says, grinning.

“Very funny.  At least I didn’t let you think I was dead for three months.”

“You didn’t think I was dead.” Stiles scoffs. “Scott told you I was fine.”

“Is your dad home?”

“Do you think I would’ve invited you here at two in the morning if he was?  A normal bullet probably wouldn't kill you, but we don’t need to test that theory.”

“He wouldn’t shoot me.”

“He would if he thought you were breaking into his house.”

Stiles ushers him in and Derek follows him upstairs.  They both move silently, even though there isn’t any risk of waking up the Sheriff.  Derek has only been in Stiles’ bedroom a handful of times, but there’s something comfortingly familiar about it.  Stiles sits in his desk chair and spins in half-circles, clearly anxious.

“You can sit.  If you want.”

Derek does, feeling awkward.  Stiles’ bed is unmade, the sheets bunched up at the end like he kicked out of them quickly and it smells like him.  Derek didn’t know he’d been missing that scent until now.    

“I’m not sure how to do this.” Stiles says, with a vague gesture between them. “I don’t even know what I mean by ‘this’, so don’t ask.”

“I was hoping you would have the answers, because I don’t.”

“Sorry to disappoint, I guess.  I know I’m usually the guy with a plan, even if it’s a plan you hate, but I’ve got nothing.  This is sort of...unchartered territory for me.”

“For me, too.” Derek says.

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“Why did you start texting me?” Derek blurts.

“I missed you.” Stiles says, and then looks surprised, like he didn’t plan on saying it. “I mean, it’s pretty pathetic, but you left and it wasn’t until you were gone that I realized...everything.”

“That’s not pathetic.”

“Yeah, it was.  It was Scott pining over Allison levels of mopey.  And we’re not...”

“Not what?”

“Like that.  Like them.  I mean, I’m not saying I’m in love with you, or anything.”

“Right.” Derek says quickly.  “Because that’s not what this is.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “That would be crazy.  We’re friends.”

“Are we?”

“Well, I don’t go way over on my texting limit every month for, I dunno, Jackson, so yeah, we’re friends.”

“You don’t have unlimited texting?”

“No, I don’t.  I currently owe my dad more than a hundred bucks in texting overages.  But that’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?” Derek asks, because he can’t resist being a smartass.

“That I don’t know how to be friends with you.”

“Join the club.”

Stiles laughs. “What made you decide to come back?”

“Cora.” Derek lies. “She thinks you all could use some help, and given the demon situation, I have to agree.”

“We handled that fine!”

“You were hospitalized.” Derek says. “Besides, the demon is just the beginning.”

“Technically the fairies were the beginning.”

“Fine.  But it’s just going to keep getting worse.”

“That’s...probably true.” Stiles agrees.  He glances at the clock. “My dad’s gonna be home soon.”

“I should go.” Derek says, getting to his feet. “Unless you’d like him to find me here.”

“Nope, I’d like to tell him tomorrow morning that I heard from Scott that you’re back in town.”

“Will he believe that?”

“No, but it’s worth a shot.”

***

Stiles watches Derek walk down the driveway, feeling like a coward for all the lies he told tonight.  He’s in love with Derek.  He knew as soon as he told Derek he _wasn’t_ in love with him, and he’d gotten the sick feeling he always gets when he lies.  Stiles is a good liar, he always has been, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it.

It was so much easier when it was just letters on a screen, and hundreds of miles between them.  The truth wasn’t nearly so terrifying when Derek wasn’t in the same room.  Now that he’s back, now that Stiles can see him every day if he wants to, there’s something to _lose_.  And Stiles isn’t good at losing things. 

He stands on the porch until Derek disappears into the darkness at the end of the driveway, and then he retreats back into the house.  He’s not tired anymore, so he stretches out on the couch and puts the TV on, more for background noise than because he’s really interested in watching all the back to back infomercials. 

His dad’s keys turn in the lock just after three, and he sighs when he sees Stiles is still awake.

“It’s late,” his dad says, hanging his keys up on the hook in the hallway and shrugging out of his jacket.  He’s tired, Stiles can tell from the circles under his eyes and the sag of his shoulders.

“Derek’s home.” Stiles blurts.

His dad doesn’t say anything right away, instead he takes his time unlacing his shoes and unbuttoning a few of the buttons at his collar.  Because Stiles can’t abide silences, he starts talking.  Which is probably exactly what his dad hoped he’d do.

“Full disclosure, he was here.  I invited him over.  At two in the morning, which was probably a bad idea because nothing good ever happens at two in the morning, but I wanted to see him.  I like him.”

“Okay.” His dad draws the word out a bit, and Stiles doesn’t think that’s a good sign.

“It’s not a thing.”

“I’ve heard that before.  Only a few days ago, actually.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself that there isn’t anything going on?”

It’s not fair, having a cop for a parent.  His dad is too good at putting together clues.  Stiles wonders what it would be like to have an oblivious parent, one who hears _it’s not a thing_ twice in four days and doesn’t immediately jump to _I’m sort of in love with an emotionally-challenged twenty-four-year-old werewolf._  

Actually, having an oblivious parent probably sucks.  At least his dad is getting this conversation over with faster.

“Both?” Stiles says hopefully. “I mean, that’s the ideal endgame here, right?  Both of us walk away from this conversation believing I’m not in love with Derek Hale.”

“The ideal endgame is the truth, Stiles.” His dad says, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

“Right.  That.  I...don’t know.”

His dad sighs. “Well, if you figure it out, let me know.  Until then, I’m going to bed.”

“What if I was?  In love with him, I mean.  It would be a disaster, right?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”

“It would be a disaster.” Stiles confirms. “You’re supposed to tell me that he’s too old for me and his life is too dangerous and that being in love with him will only end in pain and heartbreak and misery.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I don’t have my crystal ball with me tonight.” His dad runs a hand over his face, and Stiles feels a little guilty for making him have this conversation at three in the morning after he’s come off a double shift. “Living in this town is dangerous now, there’s no getting around that.  And unfortunately you never know how being in love with someone is going to turn out, and that’s scary and it might crash and burn but eventually you find someone worth taking that risk on.  But I do agree he’s too old for you, in a very illegal way.”

“Only for ten more months.” Stiles protests, feebly. 

His shakes his head, although he mostly looks amused.  “Good night, Stiles.”

“Night, Dad.”

*******

Derek has barely been asleep four hours when his phone starts buzzing on the couch cushion and wakes him up.

 **From Stiles (7:43 AM):** _I lied_.

 **From Stiles (7:44 AM):** _Also I’m here._

Derek peers blearily over the couch, trying to determine if Cora is still asleep.  Her breathing is slow and even and she looks asleep, although she could be faking.  If he learned anything over the past few months, it’s that Cora is a much better liar than he would’ve ever guessed. 

He rolls off of the couch and moves towards the door as silently as he can.  It screeches on its hinges again, and Cora mumbles something, but Derek is out in the hallway with the door closed behind him before she wakes up fully. 

Stiles is indeed leaning against the wall, looking as exhausted as Derek feels.  He hasn’t slept, that much is obvious from the dark smudges under his eyes.

Derek forgoes a greeting. “You never lie to me.”

“Sorry.  I’m kind of freaking out.”

“About?”

“We’re not just friends.”

“We’re not?”

“We’re not.  You _know_ we’re not.  I mean, yeah it’s terrifying and I’m probably going to be really bad at this—

“You can’t be worse than me.” Derek interrupts. “I have a pretty bad track record already.”

“That’s...an understatement.” Stiles says, and then flinches. “See!  I’m already terrible at this.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“Shut up.” Stiles says, but his lips twitch in the corners like he’s fighting a smile.  Derek can hear Stiles’ heartbeat, thudding loudly inside his ribcage.  Derek takes a few steps forward almost involuntarily, pulled towards Stiles like they’re opposite poles of a magnet.

“I lied too.” Derek admits. “I came back because you asked me to.”

Stiles swallows nervously. “I...uh...are you sure you want to do this?  Because I wouldn't blame you if you didn’t want to.  This has the potential to be a disaster.  We’re talking Richter 9 earthquake.  Cataclysmic.”

“Are you planning to murder my entire family or perform a series of human sacrifices?”

“No.”

“I think we can figure it out, then.”

Stiles barks a laugh, before slapping his hand over his mouth, looking panicked. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing about your family dying or Ms. Blake killing all those people.”

“Stiles, I _know_.” 

Derek steps forward again, until he’s close enough to see all the different flecks of color in Stiles’ eyes. 

“I’m more scared of this than I was of that stupid demon.”

“Me too.  It’s just not a good enough reason to stay away anymore.”

“Oh.” Stiles says softly, surprised.  Then, without warning, he surges forward, his lips finding Derek’s a little clumsily. They bump noses and Derek squirms when Stiles’ hands land on his ribcage where he’s the most ticklish, but after a few moments Derek gets his head tilted the right way and Stiles slides his hands a little higher up Derek’s chest, twisting them into his t-shirt.  Derek loses track of time, standing in the hallway of his building kissing Stiles and he thinks he could probably stay here forever, except the door to the loft squeaks open again.

“About freaking time,” Cora says loudly, and Stiles startles, pulling backwards.  Derek can’t help laughing at the totally dazed expression on his face, and the way his cheeks start to flush when he spots Cora.

“I, uh, have to go.” Stiles says. “My dad only sent me to get coffee.  We’re out.”

“You don’t need any caffeine.”

“No,” Stiles agrees, grinning. “But he does.  Mostly because of me.  Do you drink coffee?  If not, you probably should start.  Normal people need to be hyper-caffeinated to keep up with me.”

“I think I can manage.” Derek says, leaning in to kiss Stiles again. 

“Jeez, get a room.” Cora says, disappearing back into the loft. 

“Mixed messages from that one.” Stiles laughs. “But really, I have to go.”

“I know.” Derek says, although he doesn’t let go of Stiles.

“Really, Derek.  This man is serious about his coffee.  He’ll start tracking the GPS chip in my phone and then he’ll come here and we really don’t want that.”

“Fine,” Derek sighs. “Text me later.”

“Obviously.”

Derek isn’t even back inside the loft and Stiles is only halfway down the stairs when Derek’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

 **From Stiles (8:05 AM):** _I think I love you._

Stiles is right, it’s terrifying and potentially catastrophic and there are no guarantees, but Derek is tired of living a life ruled entirely by fear.   

 **To Stiles (8:06 AM):** _I think I love you back._


End file.
